


The Timeless City

by ShiroHatzuki



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, I'll add more characters as I go, Mild Language, Slice of Life, city AU, mostly exposition, multiple stories, no real plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 04:21:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12999750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShiroHatzuki/pseuds/ShiroHatzuki
Summary: There lies a place full of old architecture and people from all over, all existing in one space together: a symphony of life. Every day there is peace, and no one would have it any other way.





	The Timeless City

**Author's Note:**

> This story is just a way to get down some ideas, which is why it may seem a bit choppy, with all the walls of dialogue, exposition, and all these weird time lapses. If there are mistakes in any language that's not English, please feel free to correct me. (I especially think there are some when I decided to use Latin.) And if there any mistakes in my English, you're allowed to make fun of me for it.

Italy Veneziano hummed as he skipped along the streets paved with red bricks. He was proud that he was able to wake up early to give donations to the nearby orphanage. The kids will be so happy to see all the cool stuff when they wake up, he thought. Imagining their bright smiles filled Italy up with joy.

When he had reached the Nonno Roma, Italy stopped to peer up proudly at the sign which had the name of the two-story building on it. One year had passed since Italy and his older brother, Italy Romano, started their restaurant business. He knew that their grandpa was watching them from heaven with pride.

Italy entered the restaurant and crossed to the other side of the building to climb up the narrow staircase. He and his brother lived on the second floor of the restaurant. The apartment-like space they had to share was rather small, with the only one bathroom, one bedroom, a small area that could barely be considered a living room, and a tiny kitchen. But they could get along well enough to live together. (Well, except for the kitchen. It’s like a war zone when it comes to the kitchen.)

Upon opening the door to the apartment, Italy loudly called, “Romano! I’m home!”

A sort of grumbling could be heard from the bedroom. “Damned Veneziano!” Romano loudly stumbled out of the room. “I wouldn’t have cared if you were out or not until opening time, bastard,” he growled as he leaned on the door frame, obviously grumpy.

“Aw, don’t be like that, fratello,” the younger brother cooed, “You cuddle me in your sleep, you know. You must have been really lonely without having someone to use as a cuddly teddy bear.”

“Don’t- Shut up, idiota!” Romano snapped, “If anything, you’re the one clinging to me when we’re sleeping.”

“Sí, sí,” Veneziano said dismissively as he headed towards the bedroom, “Now, let’s both go back to bed until we open at half past ten!”

“Bastardo!” Romano grabbed both of his younger brother’s shoulders and shook him violently. “If you’re going to wake me up, then at least stay awake with me!”

“Ve!” Veneziano cried. “Fratello, I’m getting dizzy!”

Suddenly, a ringing could be heard coming from outside by the back of the restaurant. The brothers had decided to hang a bell up by the back door with a string to ring it for delivery people to let their presence be known.

Romano stopped shaking his brother to listen. “Well, sounds like we have a delivery.”

Veneziano’s face brightened. “Oh, maybe that’s the pasta we bought but couldn’t carry home because it was too heavy.”

“Correction. You were the one who couldn’t carry it home,” Romano sneered.

“That’s because you didn’t help me, fratello,” Veneziano said simply as he raced out of his brother’s grip and down the stairs.

“Who’d want to help someone like you?” Romano shouted as he chased after his brother to the back of the restaurant.

Veneziano threw the back door open, startling the man with short, black hair on the other side. “Japan! Fratello, it’s Japan,” Italy cheered, “Ciao, Japan!”

“Ah, um, k-konichiwa, Itaria-kun,” Japan managed to stutter out, “You are livelier than you normally are in the morning.”

Italy glanced past his friend to see a wooden cart loaded with boxes of a rather large size. “Hey, are all those for us?”

Japan followed his gaze. “Yes, they are. But did you really have trouble carrying them out of the store? Even though they did have some weight, I did not have much trouble lifting them.”

“Uh, let’s not talk about it,” Italy laughed nervously.

“It won’t hide the fact that you’re pathetic,” said Romano, coming up from behind his brother.

"Ve! Romano!" Veneziano exclaimed, "That's cruel!"

Japan patiently and quietly stood in front of the two brothers as they quarreled with each other. Eventually, the younger Italy turned back to his friend. "Sorry, Japan, but I’ll probably need help when I carry in the boxes."

The Japanese man nodded his understanding. “That is fine. We have some extra hands tending the store today, anyways.”

The three young men quickly started to transfer the boxes of pasta and such off of the cart and into a storage room in the restaurant. After many minutes, Japan and Italy had set down the last box. “You two ordered quite a bit of pasta,” Japan observed as he straightened his back, “Do you really use all of it?”

“Well, some of it is for ourselves, too,“ the Italian admitted with a slightly guilty grin on his face.

“Ah, that makes a lot more sense, now,” said Japan. And it really did.

“Hello?” a voice suddenly called from the back door, “I have a delivery for Mister Italy Romano and Mister Italy Veneziano.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that damn obnoxious voice,” Romano murmured under his breath as he and his brother headed towards the door.

At the door stood a tall youth who sported glasses and a postman’s uniform. Slung across his shoulder was a large bag stuffed with envelopes of all sorts. “Hello, I have a letter for you two,” the postman said when the brothers answered the door. Handing them a white envelope, he told them, “It’s from Mister Spain.”

“That bastard. His daily letters are so pointless,” Romano sneered as he took the letter from the postman, “He shouldn’t send these so often.”

“Romano, don’t say that,” Italy chimed, “In truth, you actually love reading the letters from Big Brother Spain.”

Romano’s face began to flush. “Wha- Don’t be stupid, fratellino!” he angrily snapped.

“You're so cute when you’re bashful, fratello,” Italy giggled. Turning to the postman, he said, “Thank you, Mister America.”

“No problem, Mister Italy-.” America caught himself. “Er- Mister Veneziano.”

“Just ‘Italy’ is fine,” the Italian assured the young American. Because “Veneziano” was a rather long name, the two Italian brothers decided that it would be fine if others just called Veneziano “Italy” instead.

“Oh, well if that’s the case…” America trailed off before starting again, “If I don’t see you again today, then I’ll see you both tomorrow, Mister Italy, Mister Romano.”

“Addio, America!” Italy called after him as he turned and was leaving, “Good luck with the rest of your deliveries, as always!”

Once America had left, Romano gave a frustrated sigh and Japan came from the back room. “Why is that kid so damn stupid?” Romano grumbled to no one in particular.

“He’s still getting used to everything, fratello,” Italy gently reminded him, “It hasn't been a very long time since he moved here. Give him some time.”

“That was America just now, correct?” Japan asked with a thoughtful frown.

“Uh, yes, that was him,” Italy confirmed. He wasn’t quite sure why his friend was asking about America. Even though the youth had only moved into the town a month ago, everyone who was already residents were able to recognize America.

Japan shook his head. “No, it is nothing.” In truth, when Japan had overheard the entire interaction between the brothers and America, and he could not believe that the one who spoke to the brothers was actually America. Whenever he was spending time with the youth, America was always acting energetic, impulsive, and obnoxious. The behavior never bothered Japan, though it did use to startle him, since he wasn’t very used to people in general. In time, he became accustomed to how the American acted, so hearing his new acquaintance holding a polite tone was surprising. “America has very formal airs when he is in the middle of work,” Japan concluded aloud.

“I have no clue about what you're saying, but I agree,” Italy commented. Checking his watch, he exclaimed, “My, how time flies!”

Japan checked his own watch. “Indeed. It would seem I have kept you two long enough.” He began to head out the door. “I suppose I should leave now. I wish the both of you the best of luck for today’s sales.”

“Grazie, Japan!” Italy called as his friend left, “Good luck at the store!”

Romano turned and scratched his head in thought. “I guess we should start preparing for our day right now.”

“For sure,” Italy chimed happily as he followed his brother into the kitchen, “Seborga should be here soon, too.”

Indeed, as soon as the brothers had covered the counter with ingredients for prep work, a cheery youth came rushing in. “Ciao, Italia! Ciao, Romano!” sang Seborga.

“Ciao, Seborga,” greeted Italy, “Go ahead and change into your work clothes. We may open a few minutes early today.”

Romano sneered. “Early? Since when did we even open early?”

“Now, now, fratello. We can afford to try,” Italy told him.

“That's right," Seborga agreed, "And anyways, a line is already starting to form outside.”

“Really?" Italy exclaimed, "Then we really should try our best to deliver.”

Romano grumbled as he began his prep work, “I swear, I'm surrounded by idiots.”

Seborga and Italy laughed at Romano's negativity and started to do their own jobs. For the time being, the brothers were the only chefs at the restaurant, and Seborga was the only waiter, so the three of them were usually busy.

They weren't able to open early, but the trio was able to open on time, which was uncommon enough to be a pleasant surprise. A few people trickled into the restaurant, most likely for a quick and early lunch. Even though the money earned from the busier times was always appreciated, the three Italians did tend to enjoy the slower hours while they lasted.

Sometime after the lunchtime rush, a tall man with his short, golden hair slicked back came strutting into the restaurant. Seborga recognized this man and rushed into the kitchen. “Italia!” he called, “Can you wait this customer’s table?”

Italy looked up from his work and gave a thoughtful frown. Usually, during busy times, like a few moments earlier, the brothers would have to help Seborga wait on tables. But the rush was over, so there was no need for them to do that. Italy was confused on why the youth would ask for his help. Of course, Italy knew Seborga well enough to know that his only employee would not ask something like that without a reason. “Which table are they at?” Italy asked.

“Oh, you'll know who I'm talking about,” Seborga answered cryptically with a wink before heading back.

Italy quickly finished dicing the tomato he was working on and left the rest for Romano to finish. Wiping his hands on the apron that was tied around his waist, he grabbed a notepad and pen before hurrying to the main room, where he was met with a pleasant surprise.

“Germany!” Italy cried out in delight when he saw the tall man sitting at a secluded table by himself.

His friend turned his head and nodded a greeting. “Guten tag, Italia,” Germany said to the Italian.

Italy, not being one that will settle with giving a friend a polite and simple greeting, came up to the German to give him a friendly hug and peck on the cheek. “Ciao, Deutschland,” Italy cheered. Normally, at any other place with any other people, the remaining patrons would find the whole exchange quite odd, with their familiarity and odd mixture of German and Italian. But the residents of the town knew very well how close of friends Germany and Italy were. They also knew that Italy’s standard greeting towards most people wasn’t very unlike a person greeting a casual lover.

Italy began a rapid fire of questions. “How have you been? Have gotten some down time from work? Haha, of course you have! That’s why you’re here. Is everything going well? How is your brother? Is your work going smoothly? Some of those cars must be hard to fix, huh? Is it tiring? Probably not, since you’re so fit-” Italy caught himself. “Ah, sorry. I forgot to ask for your order.”

Germany had listened patiently as his friend talked. When they were first getting to know each other, Italy’s energy and openness annoyed Germany to no ends. But eventually, he found an ability to tolerate it, and he even found it welcoming at times, since everything the Italian did and said was always a cheerful and positive person even when everything else wasn’t. “It’s fine,” Germany assured Italy, “Of course, if you do it to all of your customers, then we’ll need to give you another lecture on business.”

“I know, I know,” Italy put in with haste. He knew the German would not hesitate to teach him about a proper business face, and those lessons were often boring to him. “What would you like to eat?”

“Anything is fine,” Germany told him, “Surprise me today.”

Already having a dish in mind, Italy hurried back to the kitchen. As he went around the kitchen, he mumbled aloud the ingredients he needed. “Ziti, steak, onion, extra virgin olive oil, oh, and maybe some cheese. But which kind…?”

Romano listened as his brother listed ingredients, trying to guess what it was that he was trying to make. “Ziti alla Genovese?” Romano guessed aloud.

Italy, who had lost himself in thought, jumped at his brother's voice. "O-oh. Yeah," he stuttered out, "It's a pretty hearty dish, so I thought it would be fitting for-"

Romano interrupted with traces of scorn in his voice. “Let me guess: it's the German bastard.”

“Aw, don't be like that, fratello,” Italy cooed, “I know Germany seems all scary and unfriendly at first, but he's not that bad when you get to know him. He's actually really kind and gentle, and he's really awkward when it comes to normal chitchat, so-”

“Mio dio, you just keep going on and on about that potato bastard,” Romano complained, cutting off Italy once again, “Listen up and listen well, fratellino. I'll teach you how to perfect ziti alla genovese, but it's not for that bastard's sake, capito?”

The younger Italian's face lit up. “Oh, really, fratello?” he said with excitement, “You'll really help me make the dish?”

“Don't get the wrong idea,” Romano quickly put in, “It's just that if you screwed it up, I wouldn't be able to acknowledge you as even being related to me. And you’ll need someone to teach you the right way to make it. Consider yourself lucky that the dish happens to fall into my line of expertise, idiota.”

Italy giggled. “Sí, sí.”

The Italian brothers wasted no time getting to work. Within minutes, they were almost done with their ziti alla genovese. “Thankfully we had some meat to spare from our earlier prep work,” Italy brought up, “If we didn't, then Germany would have had to wait for a few hours just to eat.”

“Let the potato bastard wait, I’d say,” Romano stated, “If he knew anything, then he’d know that food this good takes time.”

“Ve, fratello, that's not very nice,” Italy chided, “Anyways, Germany’s a customer too, you know.”

“Ah, well, sí, I guess so,” his brother grumbled before trailing off.

Piling pasta onto a plate, Italy hummed to himself. Romano grabbed a pan with the meat and sauce for the dish on it and placed it by placed his brother. “Oh, grazie, fratello,” Italy sang, “With you helping me and all, Germany is bound to love this!”

“He better like this dish,” Romano snorted, “If he doesn't, then he’s gonna get it.”

Italy didn't know what “it” was, but he didn't care either way. After sprinkling grated cheese onto the dish, he took it out to the dining room. Germany had brought a small book with him, which he look up from when he heard his friend emerge from the kitchen.

“For a guy who likes to take things slow and easy, you're faster than I always expect you to be when making food,” Germany commented as Italy set the plate of hot food down in front of him.

“Ve! Why, I can be fast,” Italy pouted, “Especially when it comes to feeding people.”

“Ja, I suppose I should become used to that soon,” Germany decided as he picked up his fork.

Italy stared with anticipation as his friend took a bite of the pasta dish. “Well, how is it?” he asked.

Swallowing his food, Germany replied, “As always, it's absolutely excellent.” He thought a moment before continuing. “Though I must say, this has a slightly different taste than your usual dishes.”

“That's because fratello helped me make it,” Italy told him. “You see, Romano’s really good at making this dish.”

“Ah, that makes sense,” Germany concluded before moving on. “Now, did you have something you wanted to talk with me about?”

“No sir,” Italy said, “But if you could take a walk with me around town, then I’d probably think of something cool to talk about.”

Germany had to resist snorting, for there was food in his mouth and such an action would not have a pleasant result. “Mein gott, if that was flirting, I might have called for Switzerland to arrest you.” Switzerland was one of the few police officers in town. He took his job much more seriously than one should in such a peaceful town, so the phrase “I’ll call Switzerland on you” became a popular joke among the residents as a form of a friendly threat.

“Then it's a good thing my real flirting is much better than that,” Italy laughed.

“I would hope so. A woman would gag in disgust if you said such a line to them,” Germany replied.

“Ve! It wasn’t that bad, was it?” Italy cried.

“Anyways,” Germany continued, “if you want to go out, that’s fine with me. But make sure that your brother and Seborga are alright with it.”

Italy, as much as he loved cooking, was excited to be able to run outside for a bit. He rushed back into the kitchen and called to Romano, "Fratello! I want to go out for a bit-"

“With the potato bastard?” Romano interrupted.

Italy stopped in surprise. “Sí. How did you know?”

“Lucky guess,” Romano said simply. In truth, Seborga had slipped in and out a few minutes earlier because he had overheard Italy and Germany's conversation and wanted to tell the older Italian. Romano sighed and made a sort of shooing motion. “I don't really care right now, since we won't be very busy for a while. But if you don't make it back by the next rush, then you can bet your ass that I'll kill you.”

“Grazie, fratello!” Italy called over his shoulder as he skipped back out, “I'll bring you something back if I buy anything.”

Back in the dining room, Italy noticed that Germany still had some pasta on his plate, so he seated himself at the table across his friend and waited for him to finish. “Make sure you finish your meal,” Italy cooed, “As you say: ‘It’s hard to drive much with only a little fuel.’”

Germany lifted an eyebrow in surprise and slight amusement. “You were actually listening then?”

Italy made an effort to look like he was pouting. “Why, you make it seem like I never listen to you! Why shouldn't I listen to what my friend says?”

“I suppose you're right,” Germany agreed with a slight laugh. He took one last bite of his food turning back to his friend. “Mind if I have the check?”

Italy, being one step ahead of Germany only when it came to his restaurant, pulled out the check from his pocket and placed it on the table, while in the same movement standing and taking away the empty plate. He hurried to bring the plate back into the kitchen. It must be admitted that Italy was about to toss the plate into the dish washing station. But imagining how angry Romano would be if something broke, he thought against it and instead gently placed the plate into the deep, metal basin.

Once back in the dining room once again, Italy noticed that the German had already paid for his meal with Seborga, so he trotted to his friend's side.

"I suppose I should hand you a tip?" Germany said with an expecting look.

Already leading the taller man out of the front doors, Italy assured him, "It's a tip enough if you enjoy your food, in my opinion. Though," he added, "if you really want to pay a tip, then entertain me on our afternoon stroll to your shop."

Germany shook his head slightly. He was never quite sure whether he was more drained by the Italian's openness with his thoughts and emotions, or how random and disorderly they all were.

The city is something that most people would look at in awe if they were seeing it for the first time. The streets were paved with red bricks and buildings with craftsman designs stood proudly along the roads. The weather was always mild, and the skies were usually clear. On any day, no matter the weather, one might see a scooter or small car driving along the streets. But usually, there would be people traveling by foot, whether it be for a leisurely stroll or rushing to their destination. Because there were not a lot of motorized vehicles being used on any given day, the air was clean. Life was always this way for as long as anyone could remember, for very little change had taken place within the city. This had earned the city the name “Civitas Sine Tempus.” However, no matter how impressive the city looks to an average tourist, to many of the residents, it was simply a homely place. It was a surprisingly tight-knit community where everyone knew everyone else. Quite a few of the families, including Italy’s own, had been in the town for many generations. It was not unusual for people to stay in the city for their entire life, and even if they left, no one is surprised if they return some years later. Truly, once a person fell in love with the charming city and the people, there was no was no way for that affection to leave the heart.

That day, the city was as bustling as it usually was. Even though he was always confused and lost in crowds, Italy felt drawn to them. It was fitting for him to be that way, as most of his friends would agree, though Italy's clumsy ways always troubled them. Germany found it very unfortunate that he had gotten so used to the Italian's ways that he already knew to hold one of Italy's hands at all times, for without doing so, even blinking would mean risking the chance of losing his troublesome friend.

As the two friends strolled along the streets lined with stores, Italy rambled on and on about how Seborga was to leave at the end of summer to go to university in a large city that would be a few hours away by train. Germany listened patiently to his friends thoughts and worries, occasionally putting in a suggestion that may help with the Italian’s business. However, it wasn't long before Italy became bored of talking about his restaurant, so he once again began a rapid fire of questions for Germany to answer, most of them being about how Germany and his brother were doing, as well as their business.

At one point, a voice cheerfully called from one of the shops, “Well, if it isn't Italy and Germany!”

When Italy turned to see who it was, his face lit up when he saw a man emerge from the door of a pastry shop. “Big brother France!” he cried with glee as he raced over to the man. “Ciao, Francia!”

France and Italy hugged and kiss, with France saying to the Italian “Bonjour, mon petit Italie!”

Germany, however, was more cautious around the Frenchman. When France held his arms open for a hug, the German thrusted out his hand to be shaken while forcing himself to say “Guten tag, Frankreich!” in a friendly way, though he ended up shouting the phrase as if it were a strict order from an army commander.

France stood and stared at Germany’s hand with his arms still open for a few moments. Finally, with a sigh, France lowered his arms and shook Germany's hand. “Germany is way too cold, as always,” he complained.

“S-sorry,” the German managed out.

“Germany's only nervous because big brother France is creepy!” Italy chimed in.

France acted shocked towards the Italian’s words. “Creepy? Why, mon ami, you say that as though I plan on jumping the poor man! I will let you know that I would only do such a thing if he allows me to.”

“Then it's a good thing I don’t allow you to jump me,” Germany stated

“Oui, but I think you are much too uptight,” France complained. “You should loosen up a bit. Let yourself be as exposed to my love as Italy is!”

As he was speaking, France noticed that Germany was looking past him with a softer expression than he normally wore. He turned to see Italy pressed against the window of his pastry shop, staring hungrily inside. France could not help but laugh. “Speaking, of Italy, it would appear that he would like to satisfy his sweet tooth.”

Italy spun around and tried to wear a guilty expression, though it was obvious he was not guilty in the slightest. “Well, I haven't really eaten yet, so-”

France held up a hand to interrupt Italy. “It is quite alright,” he assured the Italian, “I have just set out some freshly made pastries, so please do come in.”

Italy was almost jumping with excitement as he grabbed Germany’s arm and dragged his big friend through the door. With a chuckle, France followed the two into his shop.

France's pastry shop was a bright little place that always smelled of sweet, freshly baked delicacies. Iron tables and chairs twisted into elegant designs were set up both inside and out of the shop. The walls were covered with a light beige wallpaper that had a fleur de lis pattern. The floors were a shining and well maintained white marble. Pastries and baked goods of all sorts filled simple glass cases.

"Canada!" France called to what Italy and Germany thought to be no one, "Be a dear and let me behind the counter!"

"Sure thing, monsieur France." At that moment, Italy and Germany realized that there was a youth with blond, wavy hair who wore glasses behind the counter.

"Ciao, Canada," Italy greeted the youth after the initial shock of seeing him. Germany was quick to follow suit.

"Hello, mister Italy, mister Germany," Canada replied, unfazed by the duo's reaction towards him, "I hope you both enjoy whatever you choose to get today. Monsieur France made some that are especially excellent today."

"Oh, Canada! Why do you flatter me so?" France laughed as the soft spoken Canadian left through an open doorway that led to the pastry shop's kitchen. The Frenchman then got behind the counter and asked, “Now, how can I serve you both today?”

“I don’t really know what to get, since everything you make is always absolutely heavenly,” Germany told France, though obviously hinting towards Italy to decide for him.

“Compliments won’t make your decision come on its own,” France laughed, “Well, Italy, it looks like your man cannot choose on his own, so it is up to you to decide for both of you.”

Italy scanned the glass cases, looking for a pastry that he wanted to try over all the others. Such a decision was a tough one, however, since everything that France made was delectable to everyone in every way.

At last, he decided upon one. Pointing to it, Italy said, “This one looks good. I don’t know what it says, but it looks good.”

The particular pastry Italy pointed out was somewhat square shaped, puffed up with a golden crust and two pieces of chocolate melted in the center. “Pain au chocolat,” France said, “That is what it is called.”

Italy tried to say the name a few times. The string of words felt rich on his tongue, as if he could taste the pastry without even needing to eat it. However, that was not to say he did not want to eat it. “We’ll take four,” he told the Frenchman. When France raised an eyebrow, obviously wondering what the extra one was for, Italy explained, “I also want to get Romano and Prussia something.”

France nodded, then he pulled out a small box, opened the case, and swiftly placed four pastries inside. When France gave them the price, however, Italy started with surprise, “That’s only the price of three.”

“Oui, I am giving you a free one, as a gift to a friend,” France explained, then with a playful tone and a wink, he added, “Do not expect this often, though.”

Germany shook his head. “I would hope that you don’t do this often. It’s not good for your business.”

“I know!” France exclaimed suddenly, “Why don’t we make Germany’s pastry the free one. He will find a way to pay for it somehow, even if it is free.”

Germany’s features stiffened, as if he were uncomfortable. “You know me too well, France.” From the way he said it, the German clearly did not think the fact was a good thing.

“How about you pay by letting me feel your incredible pecs, then?” France suggested.

"Oh, that sounds fun!" Italy chimed in, "Germany, let me feel them, too!"

"Wa- Italy! Don't encourage it! And definitely don't do what France does!" Germany scolded.

After some time full of playful arguing between the three of them, the friends concluded that Prussia would get the free pastry, since he was worth about as much, and spare Germany his dignity.

“But it is a shame,” France dramatically sighed, “I did want to feel Germany's massive muscles.”

“I’m rather glad for it,” Germany huffed.

Italy giggled in amusement. “I bet Germany’s cleavage is rock hard!” he speculated.

“Please don’t say it like that,” Germany bluntly told him.

They teased Germany and his muscles some more before they bidded France their farewells and began their walk to Germany’s shop, box of pastries in hand.

Germany co-owned a small auto-repair business with his older brother, Prussia. In the past, whenever there was downtime, Italy would visit the shop and watch the two work on broken down cars and scooters. The German brothers even tried to teach Italy how to fix scooters, though the Italian was never able to learn. In time, the amount of customers that came through the doors of the Nonno Roma had increased, leaving little time for Italy to spend time with the brothers.

“Yo, West!” called a rough but cheery voice when they entered the workshop, the stench of motor oil invading their noses, “Ya’ finally back from break?”

“Ja, I’m back, bruder,” Germany responded bluntly, “Did anything happen while I was away?”

“Nah, I just made some progress on herr Russia’s car,” Prussia told him before looking past him. “But business aside, what’s this cutie behind you?”

“Ciao, Prussia,” Italy sang, glomping the Prussian.

“Hallo, mein kleines Italien,” Prussia greeted, hugging the Italian back while patting his head.

From behind them, Germany cleared his throat to remind the other two he still existed. Italy pulled back from their hug and excitedly told Prussia, “Germany and I stopped by big brother France’s shop earlier and we bought you a pastry.”

“Aww, you shouldn’t have!” gushed Prussia.

“Well, more accurately, France gave us one free, which is yours,” Germany clarified, holding out the box for his brother to take a pastry.

“You bastards,” Prussia mumbled under his breath, though the others could hear him clearly enough, as he crossed over to Germany and took one of the pastries. “Anyways, it’s been a pretty long time since Italy’s been here,” he continued on at a normal volume, “Guess that mean your Nonno Roma is doing well.”

“Yep, but I miss being with you two like this,” Italy responded wistfully.

“Hey, maybe we can go out and play football or something while you’re here,” Prussia suggested.

Before Italy could respond, Germany intervened, “You two should save that for next time. It’s gotten late.”

Glancing at his watch, Italy noticed that, indeed, the dinner rush would be coming soon. “Well, I guess it’d be bad if I blew off work, huh?” he said with slight reluctance, taking the pastry box from Germany.

“Ja. You wouldn’t want to make your older brother worry, after all,” Prussia commented. Then, with a pat on the head, he told the Italian, “Make sure to invite me out next time, ‘kay?”

“Will do!” Italy agreed before waving to the German brothers. “Addio, Germany, Prussia!”

“Auf Wiedersehen, Italy,” the brothers said in unison as the Italian left the shop to race home to his restaurant.

 

“You’re home early,” Romano commented as Italy walked through the back door, “Break’s not even over yet.”

Indeed, Italy was home earlier than he would usually be. Romano was sitting in the back room at a small foldable table the brothers had set up, sipping a cup of coffee.

Italy lifted the box with the remaining pastries inside. “I wanted to get home so we can share these together,” he told his brother.

Romano regarded the box for a moment before asking, “From bastard France’s shop?”

“Sí! Germany and I bought them earlier,” Italy confirmed, holding out the box.

Romano took one of the two remaining pastries from the box and bit into it. “Not bad,” he mumbled to himself, impressed. His brother smiled at him as he took a seat across from Romano and started eating the last pastry. The two brothers sat in comfortable silence as they munched on the sweet baked goods for a few moments.

Just as the brothers finished their pastries, Seborga entered through the door that led to the kitchen. “We have some customers coming in,” he announced.

Romano drained the rest of his coffee and stood. “Looks like the dinner rush will be starting soon,” he concluded, “Let’s go, bastards.”

Italy and Seborga smiled as they followed Romano out of the room to prepare for two more busy hours.

**Author's Note:**

> Did the story give off a laid back, lazy feeling? Or was it just plain garbage? I have so many ideas for this story, but I'm still figuring out stuff, like what jobs Turkey, Lithuania, and Poland would have. Or which school Austria and Hungary would teach at (yeah their teachers just roll with it). I wish I had people I that would help me...
> 
> But my issues aside, thanks for reading!


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